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This is my first summer at home with Phillip and the kids. It's a small house with no air conditioning, four people, two cats, several guppies and a scottish terrier, all attempting to pursue diverse goals, simultaneously. We are holding up okay, but I think I'm starting to show signs of surface abrasion. I keep hearing the most bizarre things coming out of my own mouth. The others respond, without confusion. This can only mean one of two things:

1. We have devolved as a microsociety into a parallel existence in which we think we are still using language to communicate, but actually are now mostly using clicks and grunts.

2. Everyone has completely stopped listening to me and it wouldn't matter if I addressed them in Hebrew or Swahili because they react based on the thing I'm pointing at, rather than my words.

Examples of Things I can't Believe I've Heard Myself Say in the last 24 hours:

"Please don't poke a hole in the screen door with the vacuum cleaner."

"Remember to take the dead guppy that's in the freezer with you when you go to the pet store."

"Why is the house filled with flies?"

"I realize they are pretend nunchucks, but they still can hurt people."

"Honey wheat doughnuts are not health food."

"My knitting chair is covered in crumbs. Which one of you decided it wasn't worth living anymore?"

"There are three bathrooms in this house. This is only one of them. You should explore the others."

"Please go find me the tire scrub brush so I can get the cottonwood off the screen door."

"Isn't there someplace you're supposed to be right now?"

"Yes, but I don't think Tequila will freeze."

Ahh, Togetherness. If any of you, Gentle Readers, are in need of a visit from a knitting teacher, kindly drop me a line? Have Yarn. Will Travel.